


waltzin'

by peterandhispirate



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Falling In Love, M/M, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 06:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17719481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterandhispirate/pseuds/peterandhispirate
Summary: This time the threat wasn't a wolf or an alligator but a man, lopsided with drunkenness and snarling all kinds of obscenities in Albert's direction.Arthur wouldn't stand for it.





	waltzin'

Albert had a nasty habit of getting himself into trouble. Arthur knew this. He knew, and it killed him. Ever since he met the guy he'd been having these dreams - god awful, gut-wrenching dreams - where Albert drowned or got mauled by bears or stumbled into a wolf's den.

Arthur woke up in a cold sweat every time.

He decided it was his god-given duty to find Albert before the danger did. And, for the most part, he kept that oath. But despite all the running around, the endless hopping from town to town, it was impossible to be everywhere at once.

It was sort of a miracle that he stumbled upon Albert when he did. He'd been taking a late-night ride through Cumberland Forest, head down and humming the raspy cowboy version of Mary Had a Little Lamb. It was dark. He was tired. Nobody else should have been close by.

But somebody was, and that somebody was Albert.

Arthur heard him before he saw him, familiar voice pitched an octave higher with panic. The panicking part wasn't unusual, because this was Albert, but what _did_ concern Arthur was the second voice. So he brought his horse a little closer, and upon squinting into the darkness he could make out not one silhouette but two, both outlined in the glow of a fire.

This time the threat wasn't a wolf or an alligator but a man, lopsided with drunkenness and snarling all kinds of obscenities in Albert's direction.

Arthur wouldn't stand for it.

He slid out of the saddle with as much grace as a thirty-six-year-old gunslinger could muster and slipped between the trees, creeping closer and closer until he was within stabbing range. But Arthur didn't actually stab the bastard, opting to press his hunting knife into the small of his back - a warning. Albert was three feet away, after all, and the last thing Arthur wanted to do was scare him.

"It's high time you moseyed along, friend," Arthur growled into his ear, twisting the blade until it started to pierce through fabric. The drunkard glanced over his shoulder to meet Arthur's glare, eyes narrowed and lip curling.

"Y'think so?"

Arthur smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Oh, I _know_ so."

They stared at each other a few seconds longer before the son of a bitch stepped away, eyeing Arthur's knife as he turned and stormed off into the underbrush, grumbling all the while.

Once Arthur was absolutely certain he was gone he diverted his attention to Albert, who was, for lack of a better word, a mess.

"Thank goodness for you, mister Morgan," Albert sputtered, one hand pressed to his chest as if to stop his heart from fleeing his body. "I was starting to think he'd never leave."

Arthur opened his mouth to tell him it was nothing when he noticed the camera - or what was left of it, anyway. It was strewn across the ground in pieces, and the longer Arthur looked, the more pissed off he became.

"Did he do that?" he asked, gesturing to the aftermath, and Albert's sad little nod spoke volumes.

"I'm afraid so."

Arthur wanted to rip the world apart with his bare fucking hands. But he knew that wouldn't solve anything, so he choked down his anger and said, "How much do one'a those cost, anyway?"

Albert shook his head in protest, but it was too late: Arthur was already rummaging through his satchel.

"Mister Morgan, you're incredibly kind, but I couldn't possibly accept-"

Arthur held out a stack of cash, cutting him off mid-objection.

"Jus' shut up and take it, fool," he insisted, and after a helpless beat of silence, Albert did as he was told. Once he pocketed the money Arthur furrowed his eyebrows and asked, "How'd you manage to piss that feller off?”

"I simply asked him to step aside so I could get a shot of a doe and her babies - politely, mind you - and he... well." Albert blinked down at the mess of wood, metal, and glass. "I suppose he didn't like that very much."

Arthur sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He would never understand folks. Part of him still wanted to chase the bastard down and beat him to a screaming, bloody pulp.

But Albert wouldn't want that, so he stayed put.

The photographer laughed then, soft and a little sad. "Truth be told, sometimes the people scare me more than the animals." 

"Both can be handled with a pistol 'n some lead," Arthur said, shameless. "Or, in this case, somethin' sharp."

"That's very true, though I must admit I'm not that kind of man."

"I know you ain't." That's when Arthur's eyes got all tender. He couldn't help it. "Don't you ever change, mister Mason. We've got enough gunslingers runnin' around as it is."

"And I suppose you're one of them?" Albert asked, half-kidding, and Arthur could only smile.

"More or less."

Painfully oblivious, Albert smiled back and said, "You're certainly the nicest gunslinger I've ever met."

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment."

Usually Arthur took off as soon as Albert was snatched from death's hands, pink-faced and nauseous with his own stupid love, but this time was different. It was different because he was lingering like some kind of anxious guard dog, staring into the pitch-black cesspool of trees as if ten more angry drunks would materialize out of nowhere and cause trouble.

"Do you know how to dance, mister Morgan?"

The unexpected strangeness of the question was what broke Arthur out of his trance. He glanced over at Albert, who was sitting cross-legged and curious beside the fire.

"Dance?" He snorted, rubbing his chin. "Naw. I'm too old 'n clumsy. Dancin' is for pretty folks."

"Nonsense, sir," Albert insisted, getting to his feet and stepping towards him. "I'll teach you. Consider it payback for... well, everything."

He held out a hand. Arthur stared at it, so slender and soft compared to his own. So different.

Arthur needed different.

"Okay," he mumbled, letting their fingers lock together. "Teach me, then."

Albert led him away from the fire to avoid any third degree burns, finding a spot where the silvery moonlight filtered through the trees and kissed Arthur's rugged face, highlighting his cuts and bruises in a healing ivory.

"Would you like to lead, or should I?" Albert asked, and Arthur's response was instant:

"I'll lead."

Placing his free hand firm between Albert's shoulders, Arthur felt his useless heart thump when those gentle fingers curled around his bicep, grounding him. The last person to touch him so thoughtfully, so delicately, was miles away and wanted nothing to do with him.

And maybe he was well on his way to being okay with that.

As it turned out, Albert waltzed like he spoke: aimlessly, and all at once. Arthur didn't mind. They laughed, and stepped on each other's boots, and laughed again. Tripping over one another like lovesick fools in the midde of the woods made Arthur feel like the luckiest prince in the world's fanciest ballroom.

"Finally found a bastard who's clumsier'n me," he said with a grin, shaking his head. "God knows I love ya, mister Mason, but you're kinda a lousy teacher."

"Perhaps you're right." Breathless and smiling, Albert lifted his hand from Arthur's arm to adjust his hat. "I hope you had a good time despite my shortcomings."

"Sure," Arthur said, which was code for _I_ _haven't_ _had_ _this_ _much_ _fun_ _in_ _a_ _long_ _time_. And then they parted ways.

Arthur still had those terrible dreams, the ones that left him trembling, left him in tears, but every once in awhile he relived that tender dance in the woods.

He woke up smiling every time.

**Author's Note:**

> @arthrmxrgan on tumblr


End file.
